


The Office Party

by eilonwy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent Calendar, Co-workers, Community: dhr_advent, F/M, HP: EWE, Holidays, Humor, Magic, Office Party, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eilonwy/pseuds/eilonwy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has fallen to Hermione Granger to organise this year's office party, a thankless task at the best of times but made even more of a trial because of her assigned partner.</p><p>Prompt: office parties</p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <a href="http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/Dramione%20fic%20pics/?action=view&current=banner.png">
      <img/>
    </a>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	The Office Party

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as ever, to my fabulous beta, mister_otter! Carol, you rock!! *hugs*  
> Thanks, too, to those who nominated me to write for this fest. I'm honored!
> 
> Disclaimer: I make no money from this story. Only the original plot belongs to me.

21 December 2005  
Wednesday, late afternoon  
Winter Solstice

 

 

The sixth-floor lounge was a drab place on its best days, and a seriously depressing one the rest of the time. It seemed that when the room had been furnished eons before, nobody in the Ministry had considered the importance of cheery colours and comfortable sofas and chairs, perhaps a bookcase and some soft, warm lighting. Instead, it was decorated in the blandest possible tones – the common joke went that if asked, nobody working on that floor had a clue what colour the walls were – and with remarkably ugly and uncomfortable furniture, featuring a pair of divans covered in hideous brown vinyl. 

However, all that was about to change, at least temporarily, or so Hermione Granger hoped. It had fallen to her to arrange the annual office party. Well, her and one other. Every December, two lucky employees were saddled with this task, the most thankless job imaginable, considering that everybody had an opinion about virtually every part of the process and didn't hesitate to offer it. The irony that, of all the people in her office, _she_ had pulled the proverbial short straw had not failed to occur to her. Well, not a straw exactly. Her harbinger of doom had been a simple square of parchment, folded up small and neat and placed inside a hat along with other neatly folded papers in a variety of pastel colours, awaiting the Big Drawing. 

Hermione wouldn’t have minded quite so much, perhaps, except for one small, rather sticky thing: the one who had drawn the same message out of the hat was also the one person she generally tried to have as little to do with as possible, rather a tricky feat considering that they shared an office. 

The Ministry’s Office of Rare and Seriously Endangered Magical Creatures employed twenty staffers involved in research and fieldwork that took them all over the globe, investigating conditions that appeared to be leading to the disappearance and eventual extinction of rare magical species of all sorts. It was work that Hermione felt passionately about, and she threw herself into it, working long hours and even spending occasional weekends at the office, where she pored over files and photos, researching and writing the reports that she hoped fervently would help save a particular species that appeared to be on the brink.

It had been something of a shock when she’d come into the office one apparently unremarkable Monday morning some six months earlier to find a familiar blond head leaning back against the leather headrest of her desk chair, which had been swung around to face the window. 

“Nice view you’ve got, Granger,” a familiar voice had drawled. “I quite like it.”

And then the chair had swivelled around to face her, and she was looking into the serenely smiling face of one Draco Malfoy.

“What...?” she started, and then collected herself. “You’re in my chair.”

Gods. Way to state the obvious. Was that the best response she could come up with?

It seemed that Malfoy had wondered precisely the same thing. “Am I?” he’d replied rather flippantly. “Oh. Fancy. So I am. I suppose you’re wondering why.”

She’d nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly and one hand finding its way to her hip. “Well?”

“You’ll be delighted to learn that you now have my expertise, not to mention a considerable amount of my private capital, at your disposal. Saving magical creatures from going extinct is a priority of mine, and I intend to put all my energy and resources towards that end.” Leaning back in her chair, he’d crossed his arms behind his head, propping his feet up on her desk and inadvertently knocking a stuffed file folder to the floor, its contents spilling out in a fan of papers at her feet.

He hadn’t moved a muscle. 

Muttering to herself, she’d bent to retrieve them. Eventually, she’d straightened, levelling a sceptical gaze at him, one eyebrow cocked. “What expertise?”

Draco had appeared miffed at the question. “I’ll have you know that the welfare of magical creatures, especially rare ones, is of paramount concern to me. I’ve been absolutely devoted to their study for years.”

Hermione hadn’t been able to hold back a snort of incredulous laughter. “Oh yes? How many years? You mean ever since you introduced yourself to Buckbeak and nearly got killed in the process?”

“Oh that,” he’d scoffed. “That was an anomaly. I was a bit off my game that day. You can’t rush these things, you know. Animals know when you are a kindred spirit.”

“A kindred spirit. Yes. And quite naturally, Buckbeak would have recognised that,” she said, nodding seriously. “That’s why he was ready to take your head clean off.” _Silly git. What utter rubbish._

“Live and learn,” he’d replied blithely, refusing to be provoked. “And I have done, I assure you. And now, I’m in a position to put what I’ve learnt to good use, working alongside you.”

“But…” Hermione was genuinely confused now. “You mean this isn’t a joke? You’ve really transferred to this department?”

“Indeed I have.” Scooping up a piece of parchment that looked ominously official, he’d waved it at her and waggled his eyebrows, grinning widely. “Here you are, then. Inspect it at your leisure. In the meantime, there’s work to be done.”

With a cheeky little wink, he’d swung his legs off her desk and strolled over to its twin in the opposite corner. Seating himself, he had plucked a file from his inbox and disappeared behind its covers.

That was June. Now, six months, much sparring, and many headaches later, the holiday season had arrived, and the annual office party was due to start in a matter of hours. Huge trays and platters of hot and cold foods had been ordered and delivered on schedule. A rather jaw-dropping quantity of booze had arrived as well (Malfoy’s personal contribution), and musicians had been hired. They would be arriving shortly. 

One last chore now remained: the decorations. True, there was the time-honoured box of trinkets and baubles that those charged with the task in previous years had pulled out of a cupboard and thrown up on the walls and windows. But given the great age and decidedly forlorn condition of the decorations, their efforts had always been half-hearted, and the lounge had invariably seemed in serious want of some real holiday cheer. Sitting Indian-fashion on the floor, Hermione had emptied the box dispiritedly, and now she looked up at Draco with a frown.

“Malfoy, look at this stuff! It’s dreadful!”

Draco crouched down next to her and began examining the contents, turning things over and pursing his lips. “Naff, the lot of it,” he pronounced finally, pushing the carton away in disgust. “Reckon we’ll have to come up with Plan B.”

“And what is that, pray tell?”

“You are a witch, are you not? So you’ve insisted since we were eleven. And I know that at least one of us has a modicum of imagination. Surely between the two of us, we can come up with a much more suitable replacement for all this rubbish. I say we bin everything and start from scratch.”

Now there was a thought. Hermione bit her bottom lip, considering for a moment. “All right, yes! That could work!” she exclaimed, warming to the idea. “Let’s get started!”

Draco held up a hand. “Hang on. I’ve an idea. What say we make a game of it. A contest, if you will. Most creative decorations win.”

Hermione cocked her head to one side, a small, wary smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “And what does the winner get?”

Draco gave her a slow, calculated smile in return. “Oh, I don’t know... Why don’t we work that out when the time comes? Tell you what: when you lose, I’ll let you know what I want.” 

“Don’t bet on it, Malfoy!”

“You know, that’s exactly what we should do, come to think of it. I’ll bet...” he drawled, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll bet a bottle of my father’s best champagne that I win. Your turn, Granger. Make it good.” 

He had her cornered and she knew it. The trouble was, what on earth did she have that would match the undoubtedly exquisite vintage he’d just offered?

Stalling for time, she said quickly, “Who’s supposed to judge this, anyway?”

Draco shrugged, unconcerned. “Easy. We’ll get Roberts from Mysteries to do it. Or Billingsley from Accounts. They’re both trustworthy.”  
  
“Trustworthy, my arse!” Hermione snorted. “They’re both poker mates of yours. They probably owe you money!” 

“I am insulted at such an insinuation,” he responded with a wounded air. “If you think I’d capitalise on something like that, well...”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione went to perch on the arm of the divan. That was precisely what she thought, and for good reason. Malfoy had made a reputation for himself within the Ministry as not only highly intelligent but also a canny opportunist; he had a keen eye for the main chance and, as he would freely admit with no small amount of pride, the balls to take it when it came.

Following her to the divan, Draco stretched himself out on it full-length, folded arms pillowing his head and his feet nudging the arm where she sat, a scant inch from her left thigh. “You still haven’t said what you’ll wager. What’s it to be, then, eh? An hour in your scintillating company in the caff? A plate of treacle tarts made by your own little hands? Or... I know..." He grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively in the wake of yet another idea. "What about dinner? Made by you, in your flat. From scratch. I’ll bring the wine,” he added, clearly pleased with his own magnanimity. “On second thought, let’s make it that whoever loses provides dinner. I’ll bring the wine either way.”

“You mean like... a date?” Hermione was momentarily nonplussed. 

“ ‘Course not,” he replied with studied casualness. “Whatever gave you that idea? It’s just that I’m not sure what you can possibly have to offer, and I was trying to go easy on you. If you’d rather do something else, feel free to –”

“No, no, dinner would be fine. I can just about manage that, I think.” She hoped her attempt at sarcasm hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Anyway, it’s a moot point, really, because I don’t plan to lose.”

Draco raised an amused eyebrow but said only, “Let’s get to work. We’ve a room to decorate, yeah?”

*

They agreed to divide the lounge directly down the centre on a diagonal, so that both of them had three windows to work with as well as solid wall space. Directly after their territories were staked out, Draco went to the long table set up at one end for the food and drink and filled two shot glasses with some special-vintage Ogden’s Old. With a cocky smile, he strolled over to Hermione and held out a glass to her.

“A bit of refreshment to get the creative juices flowing. To…” He held his glass up, thought for a moment, and then grinned roguishly. “To home-cooked meals. Down the hatch!” he exclaimed cheerfully, and with that, he tossed back the shot and swallowed it neat, shuddering briefly and then letting out a deeply satisfied sigh.

Hermione raised her own glass, her mouth curling in a tiny, unsurprised smile. _Sure of yourself, aren't you!_ “Home-cooked meals,” she echoed. “Though I should warn you, Malfoy. I’m an awful cook. Not that you’ll find that out, of course.” 

Draco shrugged, giving her an insouciant little grin. “I’ll take my chances.”

Over the next hour and a half, the sparks flew. Wands were plied with almost feverish intensity and concentration, and despite a few minor explosions from spells gone rather comically awry, by the time the appointed hour was nearly upon them, both sides of the room were finished. 

A full bottle of Ogden’s had been polished off as well. And the artists in question were now completely and quite blissfully loaded. Creative endeavours were thirsty work, Draco had insisted; he’d gotten no argument from Hermione, which had been a pleasant surprise, and for every time he’d stopped for fortification, she had doggedly kept up with him, glass for glass. The pair were now sprawled, loose-limbed, alongside one another on one of the divans, thoroughly satisfied with their efforts and feeling no pain.

“Admit it. I am brilliant, am I not?” Draco declared woozily. He waved an arm in the general direction of the room, now sparkling with tiny fairy lights and the flickering glow from a Conjured fireplace, in which a fire now crackled pleasantly. 

_Typical_. Hermione rolled her eyes and then instantly regretted it, because now, half the room was migrating towards the ceiling while the other half seemed determined to go the other way. She fell back against the divan, rubbing her eyes and blinking several times in the attempt to unite both fields of vision again. 

“You're also very drunk," she pointed out solemnly and then giggled. "S’ever so much prettier than it was before, though! Y’know, Malfoy, I rather like what you did over there. All those cute little snowflakes falling from the ceiling and then poof! They’re gone! Where do they go, anyway?” Her head lolled to one side and she gazed, wide-eyed, up at Draco.

Draco smiled beatifically and leaned down so that his mouth was right next to Hermione’s ear. “Secret!” he whispered, raising a finger to his lips. “Shhh… it’s _magic_.” Apparently, this answer struck him as quite hilarious, because in the next minute, he began to laugh with abandon.

The humour in his answer eluded Hermione, who frowned, knitting her eyebrows and cocking her head in befuddlement and vague irritation. “Of _course_ it is, you great prat. I know that! I mean, how'd you _do_ it?”

Draco shook his head, closing his eyes in an expression of exaggerated patience. “Sorry, trade secret. Not telling.” He opened his eyes and peered down at her, an eyebrow raised in wry amusement. “Anyway, what about those snow fairies of yours? Perfectly enchanting, Granger, but don’t you think somebody at the party might get just a bit brassed off by all that bloody twittering they’re doing? I reckon only a dog could hear them properly!” 

It was true. In the opposite corner, a bevy of tiny, iridescent fairies were launching themselves from a garden of ice-limned blossoms in a rainbow of colours; they darted about the room, singing seasonal ditties, their voices raised in a chorus whose register was almost painfully high-pitched.

Hermione frowned. She was rather proud of those fairies. She turned to Draco, whose face was still surprisingly close to her own. So close, in fact, that she could smell his skin and hair. Mmm, nice, she found herself thinking, and took another, deeper breath. Crisp and clean and a just little bit spicy. And then she remembered what she had been about to say.

“Well, I think they’re lovely! It’s really not very friendly, y’know, comparing them to a –” 

“Dog whistle.” He let out an amused snort.

“Thank you. And I s’pose that herd of tiny little reindeer you’ve got galloping across the floor aren’t likely to cause complete and utter _havoc?_ ”

“’Course they won’t, you silly cow. They’re not real,” he remarked matter-of-factly, completely straight-faced.

There was a pronounced pause, and then suddenly, Hermione began to giggle again. “You know, I’m not certain everybody will realise that! Specially if they’ve got a bit tiddly!” 

Draco snickered basely. “Oh, Merlin… Farrington! And Pankhurst! Fuckwits, the pair of them! Especially when they’re shitfaced!”  
  
“Don’t forget about Prewett! And that prune-faced woman, what’s her name again?” Hermione sat up just long enough to poke at his arm and then collapsed against the divan again, laughing helplessly.

“Matilda Something-or-other,” Draco murmured, his mouth twitching. “Crandall, isn’t it?”

He had slid down the divan until his head was at chest-level, only inches from Hermione’s left breast. Suddenly, turning his head, he became acutely aware of that fact. The view had just improved immeasurably, and a slow smile blossomed on his face. With infinite care, he moved himself a tiny bit closer.

“Mmm,” she sighed, wriggling comfortably in the warmth emanating from the newly Conjured hearth and inadvertently rubbing against Draco. “Lovely fire, that. Good job, Malfoy.” 

“Those constellations of yours aren't half bad, either,” he mused, appreciating that virtually all the distance between them had now been bridged, and it hadn’t even been his doing. “Between the stars and those bloody fairies, I think you might just have a shot at winning after all.” 

He pointed up at the ceiling on Hermione’s half of the room, his finger inscribing a pattern as he named the clusters of stars now winking and glowing overhead. “Aquarius… Pegasus... Andromeda... Cassiopeia... Cepheus… Cygnus… and Draco!” Sitting back, he slanted a look at her out of the corner of his eye and grinned lazily. “Well, well. I’m touched, Granger. And… since when has astronomy been an interest of yours, anyway?”

“Since forever! I took classes in it all through school. Think back. We ran into each other in the Astronomy Tower more than once.”

“Yeah, well… I was generally there for reasons other than homework.” He smirked widely and gave her a naughty wink. “As I recall, now you mention it, you were always there alone.” 

“Don’t remind me,” she muttered darkly. 

“That is a situation we can easily rectify, you know,” he said softly, reaching up to play with a loose tendril of her hair. “There’s still time before everybody gets here.”

“Malfoy… are you on the pull with me?”

Draco smiled to himself. Always direct and to the point, that was Granger, even now. He decided to answer in kind. “Yes,“ he said simply. “Absolutely. In fact, I want to kiss you. Right now.”

“ _Oh…_ ” Her voice had grown faint. “You do?”

“Mmm. Do you mind?” 

Did she? No, she didn’t think she did, actually, now that he’d put the question to her. Truth to tell, It had been something she’d thought about more than once in the past six months. Of course, it was one thing to fantasise about somebody in the privacy of one’s bedroom. Or, more often than was probably healthy, in her half of the very office shared with the object of her fantasies. It was quite another to have those thoughts realised in the flesh, as it were. Still. Would she not be a complete fool to ignore opportunity when it was practically sitting in her lap? Malfoy would never do such a thing. He was far too sensible and pragmatic. Perhaps she should take a leaf from his book now and then. Right now, for starters.

"But..." she began plaintively, because there was just one tiny fly still in the ointment. “... won’t people be here any minute now?” 

Draco pulled her into his lap, slipping an arm about her waist and tipping her chin up with a gentle finger. “Not to worry,” he whispered, leaning in to nuzzle her ear and producing the most delicious sensations. “Check the time. We’ve still got half an hour.”

She had just enough time to glance quickly at the clock on the wall before Draco began dropping a trail of tiny kisses on her neck and jaw that set off shivery, electric sparks all through her body. He was right. Half five. The party was due to start at six. Funny, she could have sworn it was nearly six already. 

_Oh well._ She sighed happily, her eyes drifting shut as his lips descended on hers. _My mistake._

*

The reactions their party decorations received were uniformly ones of astonishment and effusive admiration. Nobody had ever bothered to really look at the party décor; at most, holiday office parties in past years had been merely a vehicle for two things: getting drunk and getting laid as fast as humanly possible within a limited time span of about three hours. Nobody had much cared one way or the other about the dismal atmosphere in the lounge. As long as there was sufficient food and drink and the means to get into private offices, the party was considered a success.

However, what they found when they arrived stunned everyone with its beauty, originality, and sheer daring. Even the singing snow fairies and rampaging miniature reindeer failed to dampen anybody’s spirits, especially once the booze started flowing. 

There were just two things that puzzled the entire staff: one, that every clock on the sixth floor was wrong by half an hour. Nobody had realised it earlier, of course, assuming instead that their own watches had been a bit off. It wasn’t until people began casually comparing the time that it dawned on everyone that all the office clocks had somehow been tampered with. 

The second thing was equally peculiar. When people began arriving for the festivities, platters of appetising food were already laid out and waiting. Bottles of very good drink were on offer, and the two-man band were in a corner, alternately swatting fairies out of their faces and strumming a guitar and mandolin. But the party’s two organisers were nowhere to be found.

Odd that they would have skipped out on the celebrations after clearly working so hard to prepare everything. Oh well, their loss, their co-workers concluded philosophically, sipping their drinks and chatting merrily to each other. 

Malfoy and Granger were missing the best office party the Ministry had had in ages.

  
[ ](http://s136.photobucket.com/albums/q162/miriamele3/Dramione%20fic%20pics/?action=view&current=Decembersky-1-1.jpg)

The night sky in the Northern Hemisphere at the time of the Winter Solstice

FIN


End file.
